


With Time

by Wickedlovely01



Series: flightless birds [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is a sweetheart, Angst, Broadway, Fluff, Hamilton - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Mental Instability, Thoughts of Suicide, depresson, john is sad but he has alex, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wickedlovely01/pseuds/Wickedlovely01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander kissed the pale, flesh-colored scars that still resided on the man’s wrist gently. “Vous lumière des étoiles ont l'intérieur de vous.”</p>
<p>“What... What does that mean?”</p>
<p>“You have starlight inside you, John Laurens.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Time

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of blood, attempted suicide, depression.

“Alex, hey, Alex.” A deep, rough voice awoke the crazed writer from his light slumber. The room slightly spun when he opened his eyes, and it took him a while to focus on Hercules’ face. It was still dark outside, though through the window Alexander could see the pale purple of dawn, and it was just enough to show muted colors in the apartment. He looked at his companion again. Hercules covered his head with a variety of bandanas nowadays as a fashion statement, and today was a purple, green, and yellow paisley pattern. Alex smiled, reaching up and touching the fabric. 

“Isn’t that like... gang associated?” The other man smiled and took ahold of Alex’s wrist, bringing it back down.

“No, Alex. Not the right colors.”

 In their little group, everyone had secrets about their past. No one knew the fullest extent of the other’s childhood, and all were smart enough not to push it. For example, all anyone knew about Alex was that he was originally from Nevis, and he wrote his way to America, where he’d been adopted by George and Martha Washington, and all Alex knew about Hercules was that he was born and raised in the bad parts of Los Angeles. That was all he needed to know. Alexander watched as his friend moved the dead laptop to the charging port on the desk. He remembered using it to write last night. He also remembered the television had been on, but it was off now.

“You should go get dressed. Where do you need to be today?” Hercules asked. Alex divided his time between full time schooling and part time at a local law firm with his adoptive father. He originally wanted to do full time on both things, but neither George nor John would permit that. As it was, the hours were already starting to take a toll on the boy. He was skinnier than he had been in the summer, bags seemed to appear overnight no matter how many hours he had slept.

Alexander slowly got up, running his hands through his greasy hair. “Firm... No, school. Wait, I think...” He heard a throaty chuckle, a crinkle of paper.

“It’s both today. Firm and then school.” Hercules confirmed. “Be quiet in the bedroom. Laf and John are still sleeping, and you know how Mr. Frenchie gets if you wake him up before nine.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, sliding into the dark room.

There was never a more heavenly sight to Alexander than seeing John sleeping. The way he curled up with the person next to him, it was so protective and amorous that it melted Alex’s heart. It didn’t even matter that the person he was snuggling up to wasn’t him, just being able to see it was beauty in itself. His dark hair was in a tight bun on top of his head, and Alex refrained from touching it. In sleep, John always frowned. He always frowned because he was always sad. Alexander Hamilton had anxiety. John Laurens had depression.

It was Lafayette who had spotted the change in John. Alex was away for a while, studying in another state with Washington by his side. John hadn’t been his usual self. There were no smiles when a joke was told, there were no enthusiastic shouts on game day, there was no sparkling light in his endless brown eyes. For a while, it seemed he was reverting to Alex’s eating habits as well, because he was rapidly losing weight. In Lafayette’s words, ‘ _Notre John est pas notre John’_. Our John isn’t our John, and fuck if that didn’t scare Alexander shitless when he got the text.

When the doctor came with the diagnosis, it felt like his entire world was imploding.  This wasn’t cancer. At least with cancer there was some hope you could be cured. With cancer, you knew when a person was finally leaving. Depression wasn’t cancer. To Alexander, depression was much, much worse. Depression meant you _constantly_ had to be on guard, because that day might be their last if you weren’t careful. Depression meant pills that didn’t necessarily work. Depression meant that John wasn’t Alex’s.  John had been put under the category of major depression. The doctor said it would come and go, just as tides wash up on the shore and recede. He said with time, John could get better. With time, Alex would stop waking up in the middle of the night to make sure his boyfriend was _there_ and _alive_ and _breathing_. With time, everything would go back to normal, and all of them would be able to see John truly smile.

With time.

Alexander called fucking bullshit.

It had been eight months since then, and you could still see the transparent orange prescription bottles on their bedside table, empty and full alike. All labeled _To John Laurens. Take Twice daily and nightly._ It had been eight months, and it was still a chore to remind him. It had been eight months, and time did nothing to sooth Alex’s worried mind. He still woke up in the middle of the night, worried that his love was gone. There was only one time that he had been, and Alexander freaked the fuck out. John had only gone to the bathroom, yet it took hours for him to calm the other man down. And John himself hadn’t improved, not really, not without his pills. All the smiles were fake, and the twinkle in his eyes were drug induced. This was their normal now. Fucked up college students just trying to find some meaning to their lives.

Alex grabbed a white button down, green vest, and black slacks, going into the bathroom and flicking on the lights, turning on the shower, and stripping. He felt gross and dirty all over. He couldn’t remember the last time he took a shower of his own free will. Most of the time, his thoughts were on essays and papers and words and _John._ How was John doing today? Would he be able to function, or would his depression be so bad he’d need to stay in bed? Would he be forgetful just as Alex was? Would he take his pills?

“No. Stop it, Alexander.” He chided himself, shaking his head as he stepped inside the shower. The hot water felt good on his sleepy skin, stinging him into focus and reality. “John is fine. John is fine, John is _fine._ ” In his effort to reassure himself, he dropped the shampoo bottle. He sighed and picked it back up again, washing his hair. The soap smelled like a strong mint, and it mingled with the warm steam, which he breathed in and out. That was nice. _This_ was nice. Alex took his time cleaning his body, so much so that by the time he was washing out the conditioner, the water had started to run cold. Once he was out, he got dressed, and joined Hercules back in the kitchen.

“Doesn’t Laf have a class with you today?” He pondered, finding a seat at the island, picking up the newspaper he hadn’t read yesterday. A cup of coffee was placed before him, and he sipped it. Black. Just how he liked it.

“Yeah, but not until later on. I’ve got Roman Art History first thing after I drop you off, and then we’ll meet up in Calc. Maybe him and I will go out for lunch after that.”

“Remember our budget, Herc.” Alex started to lecture, and Hercules waved him away, taking a bite of his toast.

“Yeah, yeah. But John is working that double shift today, so I figure we’ll be good because kid makes _bank._ You both do. But then there’s Laf and I, and we’re barely helping out anymore.”

Alexander shrugged, flipping to the finance section, skimming over the stocks. “Don’t worry. As long as you pay your fucking taxes, we’ll be fine. You and him picked more artistic jobs, and-”

He finished Alex’s sentence for him. “And someday someone somewhere will figure out that we’re fucking amazing, and then we will become the next Michael Kors and Andy Warhol. Yep, I got it. Thanks, Alexander.” They sat in silence as they drank and ate their breakfast. “Are you hungry at all? I could make you a slice of toast before we have to go.”

“No, I’m fine.” He responded, draining the last of his coffee. “They’re probably gonna have bagels at the office anyways, so Washington’ll probably make me eat some of that. I just kind of want to get there so I can start on the rebuttal.” Hercules nodded, and in sync, they both stood up and grabbed their bags before heading out the door.

There were two cars in the garage. One was Hercules’, a shiny black Mercedes that only he was allowed to touch. Every other day, permitted the weather was warm enough, he’d be out there washing it. Everybody had their ways of coping, of staying focused, and his was washing a car. Alex never made fun of him. The other was an old honda that John and Lafayette shared. At one point, he suspected it was a nice muted blue, but neither of them cared much for it, so now it was almost completely rusted over. The pair had talked about selling it, but the conversation always ended in an argument, so it stayed in the garage for now. Sometimes it was driven, mostly by John, when he didn’t want to inconvenience the cab drivers.

Alex knew that wasn’t the reason. He knew that when John took the car, he was contemplating killing himself.

He wondered if that would be the case today, because by now John was always up to kiss the others goodbye, but he wasn’t, and that worried him. As he sat in the car, he felt Hercules give his knee a squeeze. “He’ll be fine, honey.”

“I know.”  They drove off.

Alexander wasn’t allowed to drive. He didn’t even have a driver’s license. He used to, as a teenager. George and Martha insisted he be more independent, and it wasn’t like Alex didn’t _want_ to drive. He’d always wished to go where whenever he wanted whenever. He even remembered his first car. A cheap grey van that he’d bought from one of his neighbors for about one thousand. But when he was diagnosed with severe anxiety, most of the people in his life deemed it too dangerous. Alex didn’t necessarily disagree, though he felt like a burden to the others.

“Hey, I know I said he’d be fine, but give John a call today, alright?” They were halfway to the firm, and the sun started to poke up from the buildings. 6:23. They’d been up for an hour and a half. Alex wondered if the others were. He wondered if his boyfriend had taken the pills.

“I was planning on it. I always call him, Herc. Everyday. And it’s not just because the doctor says to. I call him when I get there, when I get a break, when I’m off. I mean, I _guess_ it’s my anxiety? Like, I’m worried that he’ll... that he’ll...” _Breathe, Alex, breathe._ “That he won’t be there. That I’ll call a minute too late and he won’t pick up. That’s my biggest fear, I think, is knowing John won’t be there to answer.”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t much else to say. 

***

Being the adopted son of the man who owned the law firm, you’d think you’d get some kind of perk. But that wasn’t the case, and Alexander knew it. He was still a bottom-feeder, despite having proved even Burr wrong in a case. Everyone looked down on him, which he hated, because he was short enough as it was. Alex didn’t need his intelligence insulted either. There were no easy breaks just because he was the kid of Washington. Today was no different, and by the late morning, the college student was completely swamped in papers.

He had tried calling John when he clocked in thirty minutes early. Lafayette picked up. “Ah, _bonjour,_ Alexander!”

Alex had half a bagel in his mouth, spreading cream cheese on the other end like an idiot. He didn’t have time to stay in breakroom and eat. There was work to be done, and he couldn’t waste a second. “Morning, Laf. Is John awake?”

“I am hurt that you want to speak to him and not to me. Where’s my ‘I love you’, huh? You should say it in French, _mon ami._ ”

The bread tasted like rubber in his mouth. “I mean, I did call _his_ phone. Can you just answer my question? I don’t need to get written up by Jefferson again. He already hates me because I’m better looking. I don’t need to get fired.”

“No, he’s not up yet. The zoo really wore him out yesterday, so I’m letting him sleep. I don’t have class until eleven, so I’ll stay as late as I can with him. Does that make you feel more at ease?” Alex smiled as he logged onto the computer at his desk, putting the half-eaten food down. He scrolled through his email. Fifteen unread. This was a piece of cake.

“Yeah. I wish I could be there with him, but I can’t. Not today, anyways. Make sure he takes his meds, okay?”

“I know, Alexander.” Lafayette’s voice was smooth like whiskey, and he always sounded like he was purring, somewhere between amused and aroused. “I love you. Remember to eat and take bathroom breaks every so often.”

“I’m eating a bagel right now, Laf.” He smiled. “ _Je t'aime_.” Then they hung up, and Alex turned from loving family man into kick-ass work machine.

For the next couple hours, the only sound that emitted from his small office was the sound of keys clacking together. So much work was to be done, and as a part time worker, Alex knew he had to prove himself. There was not a minute that went by that he didn’t worry about who was watching him, what his co-workers were saying about him behind his back. At work, he was a constant mess. No one here was his friend. Not even his father who, when at the firm, cared more about the business than his adoptive son. That was why Alexander was always so wired to get each and every paper turned in early, with no mistakes, revised at least three times. In this profession, there was no room for mistakes. Mistakes, even the smallest of them, could mean the verdict was guilty when it should have been innocent. The lawyers at Washington & Co. literally held a person’s life in their briefcases. Sometimes, when Alex remembered that, he panicked. Being responsible for a stranger who murdered or robbed scared him. What if he made the wrong choice?

Like clockwork, Burr came in at one-thirty. Everyone else went on their breaks without reminders. Alexander Hamilton needed to be forced to take his. The man came over and put his warm hands on Alex’s cold shoulders. “Up.” He commanded.

“In a minute, Burr.” A frustrated sigh.

“ _No,_ Alexander. Why are you always non-stop? I don’t know why you do-”

“I have to prove my worth.”

“Jesus Christ...” Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw his co-worker rub his face. Everyone got fed up with his shit, and he knew that. That was why some days he just wanted to write and be alone, so that he wouldn’t annoy his friends or family. “Look, your worth is already proven. You’re at school most of the time, and when you’re not you’re almost always here. You went home, what, twice this week?” Burr pointed to the small couch pushed up against the wall. It was for customers in waiting, though more often than not it had spare blankets and pillows, because there were some nights where Alex just refused to go home. When he was in that state, not even Washington, who was capable of moving mountains, could move him. “You sleep there. You’re _insane._ So take a break. Do us all a favor, Alexander, and take a break.”

“And what if I don’t?” Alex challenged. Burr gave a sickly sweet smile.

“Then I’ll get Jefferson.”

It took Alexander less than thirty seconds to get to the breakroom.

No one else was in the room with him. It was only the tired part-time lawyer. He wasn’t eating, didn’t feel much like it. His fingers itched to write something about the report he’d been doing for history. It was over feminists in the 1920’s, and how they contributed to the ones in the 60’s, and so forth into modern days. It was only supposed to be four pages long, yet Alexander yearned to make it six. Six incredible, affluent pages of historical and economical facts.

His phone started vibrating like crazy halfway through his dreamlike daze. “Hello? This is Alexander Hamilton.”

“Hi, Alex.” It was a female’s voice. He could sense the woman smiling at the other end.

“Eliza! How’ve you been?” Alexander tipped back on his chair, legs resting on the table and crossing. He took the pencil from behind his ear and twirled it around.

“I’m not here to make small talk. I’m here to talk about your boyfriend, John Laurens.”

A pit dropped from his throat to the deep depths of his stomach, and a sick feeling flooded his body. He almost dropped the phone, but kept calm. Freaking out was not going to help the situation in the slightest. “Y-Yeah? What about him?”

“He’s late to work. I thought you’d know where he’d be. He’s not with you?” Eliza pondered, and Alexander heard the scratch of a pen.

“Oh, no... I’m at my father’s firm right now... In the middle of...” He stopped himself before he could get too caught up in his work. Work was not important. John was important. John dictated if there was a sun in the sky that morning or not. John ruled over Alex’s mind, and if something was wrong, then his mind was tainted and destroyed, and there was no way he could function. He quickly got up, making a beeline for Washington’s office. “Um... Uh, it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna go home right now... He’s prob...probably there. I’ll, uh, talk to you later, Eliza. Let you know what’s goin... going on.” Alex hung up without an apology.

He bust into his father’s office, panting like he’d just run a marathon, tugging on his collar if as if it was too hot. It wasn’t. Washington always kept this room a brisk fifty-three degrees. Everything was metal. The desk, the chairs, the bookshelves, yet it never looked cruel and horrible, like a jail cell. The walls were a nice relaxing blue, and a bronze eagle stood on the desk. Along one wall was an original american flag from the revolution. Alex remembered when his father had gotten that. He’d been happy. Or, as happy as Washington could be. Alex couldn’t ever recall seeing the man smile.

Washington turned around from peering out the other wall made entirely of windows. He was often found in that stance, just overlooking the urban city like he was some sort of god. “Alexander.”

“Mr... Mr. Washington, s-sir.” He never called him anything else in the office. “It’s... Um... I m-mean...”

Alex felt hands on his shoulders again. His father looked down at him sternly, cooly. “Breathe, son.”

When the boy managed to regain his composure, he shrugged Washington off. “It’s John. He had a double shift today that started an hour ago, I think? But Eliza called me and told me he never showed up. He never showed up, sir, and I’m really worried. Is it possible for me to take the rest of the day off to check on him?”

“How far along are you in the rebuttal and your closing statements for the Smith case?”

“Almost done, sir. I’ve just another page or two on each, and then I can start revising.” A soothing calm rushed through his veins. Talking about work calmed him down when he was fired up.

“I assume everything is saved to your Google Drive?” Washington questioned further, and Alexander nodded.

“Of course. I’m not Jefferson.”

“You will do well to remember your place here, Alexander. I will not tolerate bad mouthing other employees at the workplace. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may go, but keep working from home. I will monitor your progress.”

Alex grinned a little. “Thank you sir.” He started to walk out the door, but stopped when he was halfway. “And I would prefer if you didn’t call me son in the workplace... father.”

As he left, he could have sworn he saw the tiniest of smiles on George Washington’s face. 

***

“John?” Alex called, opening the front door. He’d tossed a couple of bills towards the Uber driver who’d picked him up and just jogged up to the house. There wasn’t any response, but then again, he didn’t think there would be. When John was in one of these moods, he wouldn’t answer, not even if it was an emergency. “John, baby, it’s Alex.”

The house was silent, a deadly omen and a weird feeling that the man just couldn’t shake. In this moment, his anxiety was rightfully taking over. There were so many horrible possibilities that could have happened in the hours he’d been gone. John could have ended his life. He could still be in bed, not able to get out. He could be trying to overdose on the pills that were trying to cure him. Alex tiptoed around, setting his bag down on the couch. He supposed that the most logical place to check was the bedroom.

No sign of John Laurens.

“Honey,” Fear had trickled into his voice now, and he didn’t even try to hide it. Maybe his boyfriend would be more inclined to show his face if he knew what turmoil Alex was going through. “Please answer me. I’m really worried about you. Eliza said you didn’t show up to work.” Alexander just kept talking, rambling, because the alternative was thinking about John being dead, and that wasn’t an option. He kept walking around the house as well. “I love you, John, so I’m not mad. I’m never mad at you. I know that this is hard for you, but you need to answer me.”

When he’d searched high and low in every room, Alex had no choice but to check the rusty blue car. The suicide car, as he had so kindly dubbed it. He opened the door, praying to god that John wasn’t there. He prayed that John was out taking a much needed walk, that there was no cause for alarm, that he’d just forgotten the time. Alexander could live with that possibility. He could not live with the possibility of John sitting in the driver’s seat of that old honda, surrounded by leather and the smell of cigarettes.

Yet, much to his horror, that's exactly where John was. Every single red flag, alarm, and nerve ending went off. Alexander shook his head, jogging the few feet it took to the door. He tugged on it. John had locked it.

“No. John. You don't get to do this. Open this fucking door right now.”

“I want to be alone, Alexander. Please leave me alone.” He sounded dead, and that broke his heart.

“That's not happening. I don't get to be alone during attacks, so you don't either. Open the door, or I swear to god I'll break the window.” A click. Alex took his chance and slid into the passenger seat, letting out a breath of relief. “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Alexander shook his head. “That’s not good enough. You’re in this car, John. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I just want to die, that’s all.” The other man confessed, twisting some of his curly hair in his fingers. Alex didn’t get to pull it back this morning. It was all over the place, frizzy because of the humidity in the garage. “Today’s the day. I’m going to die. I want to die today.”

_Keep calm._ “Why? What’s wrong?” He reached over to John, smoothing down the hair he was captivated by. “If you die, I won’t be able to do your hair anymore.”

John shrugged. “You can do Laf’s. Nothing’s wrong, Alex. I just have depression. I just want to die, okay? So you can leave me here while I choke on the gas fumes.”

“Eliza’s worried about you. She wondered why you didn’t come in.”

“I know. She tried calling me, but I didn’t pick up.”

“How come?”

Another shrug. “I didn’t see the point.” For the first time today, John turned towards Alex, and the writer saw his boyfriend’s face in all his depressed glory. It was only two in the afternoon, yet he looked like a drunk man in the early hours of the morning. His brown eyes, the color of warm hot chocolate, flecked with brighter spots of cinnamon, were bloodshot, and even if he _did_ take his pills, Alexander knew that there would have been no sign of light in them. A thin line of stubble had grown on his chin, a sign of defeat. John shaved everyday, and it was a problem when he didn’t. Alex reached up and skimmed his jaw with his thumb. “I don’t see the point anymore, Alexander.”

“I know. I know, just... C’mere for a minute, turtle. Let me hold you.”  John complied, moving into Alex’s open arms, curling into his lap. Alex rubbed his back, scratched his scalp. When asked if John took his meds, he shook his head. “Babe, I know this is hard. I know depression sucks. But know that I am here. Can I see your wrists?”

A long time ago John had tried to take his own life. Alex still had nightmares about it, and he often woke up screaming for him to stop. It had happened three months ago. Hercules and Lafayette had either a man or a women in their beds, and Alexander was working non-stop on an English essay he’d been stressing over. No one thought to remember about John Laurens. John, who had built this group from the bottom up. John, who nursed Alex back to health when he was too sick to even remember his own name. John Laurens, the kindest man on the earth, the one that would take a bullet for a complete stranger, was the one forgotten that night.

Alexander Hamilton heard the water running. He kept writing. He heard the creaky opening of the cabinet door where they kept their medicine and razors. He kept writing. It was late, and all he could think about doing was getting these thoughts on paper. Transferring the words that would get an A onto a physical sheet. No one had bothered him. He didn’t think about bothering others. The only thing that caused the furious writer to look up was a clatter of metal on the tiled floor, and the loud thunk of a body.

Of course the bathroom door had to be locked, so Alex broke into it. There, lying in crimson glory, in his own blood, was John Laurens. Alex screamed at the sight of the slit wrists, the blue depression pills dyed a light lavender. It was a complete mess.

They saved him. All three of them. John spent two weeks in a psych ward so they could monitor him and readjust his meds. It was absolute _hell_ for everybody else. Alex wondered if John was ever going to come back home. He did, eventually, and until today Lafayette, Hercules, and Alex did a fantastic job at keeping the suicidal wonderment that was John Laurens in their sight at all times.

Alexander kissed the pale, flesh-colored scars that still resided on the man’s wrist gently. “ _Vous lumière des étoiles ont l'intérieur de vous_.”

“What... What does that mean?”

“You have starlight inside you, John Laurens.” A faint blush on the man’s cheeks. He snuggled into Alex’s chest, and he instinctively held him closer, like his thin arms were made for blocking death instead of writing. “I mean that. Did you know that the stars died for you to be here today? When you bled out... you were wasting the life the universe gave you.”

“Alex... Can I ask you a question? A serious question?”

“Of course, dearest.”

“What do you think our purpose in life is? Because lately... Well, I mean... What if the French have a point?”

“Hm?” Alexander took a liking to closing his eyes, and softly kissing parts of John’s exposed skin. He was warm, and he tasted faintly of gingerbread.

“With existentialism. Seriously, Alexander... Why am I here? What purpose do you or I serve? I’ve never been able to find answers to the questions I so desperately need to find. I’ve been in this car for hours, and I’ve been so close to turning the key and just ending it all, because if I’m really so important, why can’t I fix you? But then I don’t. I’m a chicken-shit, Alex. I don’t because I remember that you’d miss me, and if I left you’d be in a worse state than if I was here.” The writer shifted the boy in his arms, staying thoughtfully silent. He bit his lip, kissed John’s forehead a few times, and touched their brows together before answering. Brown eyes finding their matching pair right in front of them.

“I think our purpose is to just live.” Alex stroked John’s hair, smiling apologetically. “I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, but that’s what I believe, John. I think that we just live. That’s what God put us here to do. We’re supposed to make people we love hurt less and smile more. Please don’t worry about fixing me, baby. Not right now. I’m gonna worry about fixing you, my little turtle. I’m not letting you out of my sight until further notice.”

John blinked slowly, but ended up keeping his eyes closed as he snuggled into Alex’s chest. “I dunno what we’d do... I’m not interested in anything right now.”

“Did you take your pills?”

“I guess I must’ve, because Laf woke me up and I remember him not leaving until I swallowed something. But I don’t think they’re working anymore.”

“We’ll go to the doctor’s first thing monday morning, then. See if your meds need readjusting.” Alex kept kissing him, trying in vain to get a smile out of his boyfriend. “Let’s go inside and start a movie. I’ve got a couple things I need to get done for Washington, and then I’ve either got to set up video chat for all of my classes, or get the notes and study hard.”

“Alex, please, you don’t need to do all of that.”

“You’re funny if you think I’m leaving you alone.”

“I told you I won’t kill myself.”

“Still not leaving. It’s okay, really. You’re always saying how you want me to take the day off. C’mon. There’s a bag of popcorn with your name on it, John Laurens. Can you stand?” Alex nuzzled the top of his frizzy head. John’s hair was always rough, and he absolutely adored it. To be honest, there was nothing about John that Alex _didn’t_ adore. The way his nose and eyes scrunched up when he laughed. God, his laugh. It was like silver bells carried on the wind. Alex love the way John stood upright, cocky, yet quite militaristic. He loved the way he handed the very sick children in his care, always staying until they smiled. He just loved John, even in this mood. So he opened the door when his boyfriend shook his head, and carried him inside, placing him in from of the pile of movies on the right of the television.

“Alexander...” His voice was quiet, uncertain.

“Yeah, baby?” He’d gone into the kitchen to grab two mugs, his white shirt riding up his stomach as he stretched.

“I... I love you. I’m sorry for scaring you... I didn’t really mean to be like this. I’m sorry for not going into work because I know...” John’s voice cracked, and Alexander Hamilton dropped everything in his hands immediately, practically leaping over the cheap linoleum card table they never used, and wrapping his boyfriend in his arms, rocking him before the tears could come. But they came anyway, and depression didn’t stop just because there was someone nearby. Depression was like a train, full steam ahead until it reached it’s destination of death and destruction, and it trampled lovers on the way. But if it was John, Alexander didn’t mind so much if he got hit by a train. “I know we need the money for food and stuff... I know we’re gonna be behind on our rent... I know that your birthday is gonna suck, and then it’ll be my fault and I’m _sorry_.” John just broke down.

“No, no it’s okay. It’s okay. John, I promise you that it will _be okay._ I know this because that’s what you tell me, and you always tell the truth. So it will be okay. I’ll budget accordingly this month. I’ll leave out my birthday because who needs that shit anyways? I’m going to be twenty-six, big fucking deal. You can’t even fit that many candles on a cake, dearest.”

“I... I can try...” A laugh amongst the tears, and snot flew out of John’s nose like a cannon, but Alex didn’t really mind. He just held a box of tissues up to the other man’s face and told him to blow in a gentle, calm voice.

“Don’t worry about it. When you’re all better, I’ll stop going to school for a while and just work full time at the office. Washington will understand. We’re both workaholics. It’ll be just like Christmas, remember?”

“Are Hercules and Lafayette going to be mad?”

“No, sweetheart. Of course they won’t be. They both love you. I love you too.” Alexander just held his crying John, rocking him side to side. “I love you. If you’re ever feeling like the world has turned against you, or you don’t see the point in anything, just remember that I, Alexander Hamilton, lawyer extraordinaire, will still love you at the end of the day.” 

***

After a while, Alex managed to coax John onto the couch, a mug of hot chocolate warming his cold hands, a bowl of popcorn snug between his blanket covered legs. A movie played softly across the room, animated characters laughing and flying across the screen. They were happy, and that was the whole point of this exercise. Be happy and content with what was in front of them. Be happy and content with the way they wrapped around one another, loving and possessive. Alexander typed on his laptop furiously, taking notes with earbuds in as he listened to his teacher drone on and on about the rise and fall of the stock market. The sun was going down, casting mysterious shadows on John’s placid face. Every once in awhile, the writer would peck his cheek and whisper some endearments. Eliza called in the middle of the movie, when Alexander was working on Washington’s work, and he spoke briefly, not really in the mood for conversation with anybody but John, who had fallen asleep in his lap, the now empty mug hanging limply from his hands. Alex looked down and smiled.

John Laurens, he knew, with time, would become a better man than any of them. John Laurens, who had struggled the most, who still believed in Santa, who handed out lollipops to the children of the hospital’s ICU, would be okay. John Laurens, Alex decided as he put the mug on the table and curled up next to him, would overcome this depression with time. With time, everything would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> So... What did you guys think? I was feeling really down when I wrote the ending because of my anxiety, but I tried my best. What would you guys like to read about next? I've got a few ideas if you're interested. I won't have time for another fic for a while because of work, and I'm trying to get a bucky barnes cosplay done before civil war comes out, plus school. But yeah, I love feedback, so please indulge me!


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